


None Will Seek Your Gaze As I Do

by Boundlessmignonette



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Insecurity, M/M, Pre-Barricade fic, art related insecurities, but also fluff, gets happier near ending i promise, short ficlet written for a friend's birthday, underlying anxiety and self-deprecation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boundlessmignonette/pseuds/Boundlessmignonette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What had once been an empty expanse of white had become the depiction of god, a creature so beautiful it almost prompted those who looked upon it to weep for its beauty. Everyone viewed this being differently, however, each with their own personalized interpretations of such a spectacle. An angel, a deity, a nameless face, a misdemeanor, a lost cause, a statue. Such were the thoughts of the many, and seldom the thoughts of the few.</p><p>No one saw Enjolras quite as Grantaire did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	None Will Seek Your Gaze As I Do

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just a small ficlet written for the lovely [Noirvelour's](http://noirvelour.tumblr.com/) birthday. Happy birthday dear! I hope you enjoy this c: I was prompted by someone to write her a fic in which Enjolras discovers Grantaire drawing him and Grantaire becomes extremely insecure about it. This is the end result.

The quiet 'shrk' of charcoal across paper filled the small corner of the Musain Grantaire was currently nestled in. His back was pressed up against the wall, with his knees pulled up to his chest and his leather bound sketchbook resting atop them, opened to a random page that was empty save for a few stray marks. A bottle of wine sat on the floor near his feet, mostly untouched. 

The room around him was a flurry of motion, a symphony of voices mingling with sharp thudding footsteps, all melting together to form a song Grantaire happily referred to as home, even if he'd never admitted as much aloud. His train of thought was lost as everything suddenly ceased. A pause, a beat of silence, hushed murmurs and the muted scraping of a few chairs gave way to a silent room. Suddenly, there was only one voice ringing out, sharp and ablaze where all else was shadowed and shushed.

Grantaire never failed to be lured like a moth toward this vibrant flame.

A gentle intake of breath, a pause that could have very well been hesitation had Grantaire had any left in him at the moment. Long fingers poised above the paper, positioning the charcoal so that it hovered just above it, so close yet not close enough, waiting, beckoning. A particularly bold exclamation rang from the front of the room, and skilled hands flew. Charcoal drifted, skirted, deft fingers creating bold strokes and curved lines, solid angles and flowing shapes. This was done with intense fervor, all the calmness of an observer and the haste of a pursuer. What had once been an empty expanse of white had become the depiction of god, a creature so beautiful it almost prompted those who looked upon it to weep for its beauty. Everyone viewed this being differently, each with their own personalized interpretations of such a spectacle. An angel, a deity, a nameless face, a misdemeanor, a lost cause, a statue. Such were the thoughts of the many, and seldom the thoughts of the few.

No one saw Enjolras quite as Grantaire did.

None saw the compassion in his eyes, nor heard the condemnation in his voice. None perceived the fierceness of his soul, nor the fury of his stance. None; none like Grantaire did.

A smile curved the man's lips at the thought, and the other man in front of the room standing so proud. How he was ever graced the opportunity of being in such a presence baffled him, but he was not about to question it. For now, he would be a voiceless onlooker in the face of his muse.

So lost in thought was he that Grantaire failed to notice how the room had once more been swamped with silence, not until he heard the clunking of boots, heavy footfalls becoming increasingly closer. Swallowing, he looked up, meeting the face of their leader as he directed down at him a gaze so stern it'd make nearly any man cower. A faint tremble ran the length of his spine, turning into a chilling sort of shock as Enjolras swept forward to snatch the paper from its place atop Grantaire's thighs. 

Grantaire grimaced, seeming to shrink in on himself as the beginnings of an apology already began to bubble past his lips. "I apologize, Apollo. I know that it appears that I have not hear a word you have said, but I assure you it is in fact quite the opposite. More than that, I know that my hands themselves are not worthy to draw someone as lovely as you. My drawing is not the best, and I know that i could certainly be better. That is to say, I mean-"

His ramblings died on his tongue as he finally saw the look of shock that mingled with something akin to awe and a profound sense of confusion in Enjolras' expression. Grantaire himself become stupefied, wondering what he could have done to see emotions such as those written across the plains of the fair face.

Enjolras abruptly spoke, albeit in a soft manner. "Grantaire... Is this really how you see me? Surely this cannot be me. I do not posses this kind of ethereal beauty!"

Grantaire could do nothing but gawk up at him from his spot on the floor. "Enjolras. Have you been witness to your own reflection?" A light blush ruddied his cheeks. "There is no ink nor charcoal, no illustrator nor painter that would be capable of truly capturing all of your essence."

By this time Grantaire was so nervous that he could only look at his feet, fretting his lip between his teeth. Exasperated, Enjolras knelt down next to Grantaire, slowly drawing him forward so that his head rested on his chest. A gentle smile lit up his whole face, and he gazed down at the other fondly. "Thank you, mon ami. But I'm afraid it is _I_ that is undeserving of such a lovely soul as you. You shouldn't be so down on yourself all of the time, Grantaire. After all, you yourself are _beyond_ beautiful."

Enjolras pulled away and glanced at Grantaire briefly before leaning in to press a kiss as light as the wings of a moth upon his lips. When he pushed back, he looked at Grantaire with nothing short of pure adoration. Grantaire's heart fluttered madly inside of his chest; he immediately decided that it was the perhaps the most beautiful face he'd ever seen on the man. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Grantaire's lips tugged upwards in a genuine smile that had Enjolras wishing he could engrave the image permanently into his mind it was so lovely.

The entire room behind them erupted in cheers, with Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Marius applauding them from the far corner; Bahorel and Feuilly raised their glasses to them from their place sat at the bar area; Combeferre, Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta all sent the pair loving looks, obviously happy with the new development. The pair laughed; the overall jovial attitude of their friends was welcoming, comforting even. Grantaire felt in ecstasy, and for once the constant self deprecating thoughts that ran through his mind were silent. It was all he could ever want, but not in the way that he had always envisioned. He was no longer the careless moth that flew too close to the flame and burnt his wings; the sun itself had chosen to rise over his horizon this time around. Lips parted in a breathless laugh, Grantaire regarded Enjolras once more. "You may call me lovely, and you may call me beautiful, and aye, you may say that it is I that have stolen away your breath. However, Apollo, truth be told, it has always been you that had been first to steal away my beating heart."

No, Grantaire decided; none but him would ever see Enjolras the way that he saw him. Not even close. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come say hi on [Tumblr](http://boundlessmignonette.tumblr.com/)! c:


End file.
